Exposure
by high.fiving.jesus
Summary: AU-noun: An act or instance of revealing a fraud.-Dark
1. Prologue

**Warning: Throughout the story, hints at substance abuse. The story's meant to be dark, come on guys…**

**Spoilers: I doubt it. Not in this chapter.**

**Rating: T. For now.**

**Reason? Everyone seems to be writing "dark" stories, so I'd like to give it a try.**

**Welcome to my mind.**

_**Exposure**_

Corruption. Silence. Insomnia and amnesia. Despair. Pain.

Exposure.

It's when you reveal what you shouldn't, when you expose the coward behind the curtain, the hidden _corruption_ and the deadly _silence_ that seems to follow every moment of torture, pure _despair_. It's _painful_, but acceptance. That's hard to come by.

Percy should have known that, he should have known; _he should have known…_

But he didn't and it couldn't matter either way as to what he had caused, what he had done, what people like him still do. People like him. What type of people? The ones that didn't deserve life, that didn't deserve the very breaths they had, the very heart pounding in their chest.

At least, that's what he thought of people such as himself.

Horror. Failure. Heartache and brokenness. Anticipation. Pain.

And exposure. The cause of everything. Getting caught, becoming discovered by the ripping away of the covers that hid what shouldn't have seen daylight. The skeletons in the closet.

The ghosts of his past.

But it was the past; he had pushed it so far into the corners of his mind and walked forward with such weakness he thought he might have fainted. But as he went, he grew stronger, every step becoming firmer, set perfectly in every foothold.

Percy leaned back, both arms draped along the back of the couch so casually; no one could have noticed anything wrong with him. He was the picture of genuine lightness, of freedom from any worries.

The television flickered and he narrowed eyes; the response was a clearer picture of the pre-recorded game and every pixel folding together, as if from the weight of his glare. He nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied. The boy sitting on the reclining chair chuckled to himself and swirled the acidic liquid in his bottle.

"Man, Percy," he grinned. "It's like an animal. How do you do it?"

"Lots of training," he sniffed arrogantly, feinting a smile. "Took a few treats, but the set finally understood." They cracked a smile at each other and their attention turned to the television set with grim determination.

"You know you're going to lose," Nico Di Angelo, a boy with incredibly pale skin and raven hair of silk, two ink stains as his pupils, turned to cast him a sideways glance. "Right?"

"Not a chance," Percy leaned on his elbows patiently. "Man, the Steelers will take the game without a single problem."

Nico shook his head and sipped his drink. "What makes you so sure? I didn't even think you were a Steelers fan."

"I'm not," he shrugged casually. A clatter came from the kitchen just beyond the wall to his left and he rolled his eyes. "Grover. You alright, man?"

A muffled response, something along the line of cursing silverware and an ability to accent the power of gravity, and then he called back. "Yeah; all is good," he cursed again. "My enchilada!"

Grover Underwood was a nature-activist, a vegetarian, a mountain hiker, a best friend. He was merely a year older than Percy and had so many more fears, all irrational. He didn't like being underground, or disgusting smells. He seemed to prefer just sitting in a patch of woods, in actuality. And despite his age, he wasn't near as toned as his best friend. The starts of a wispy goatee cluttered his acne ridden face, curly brown hair popping from his head unceremoniously. He was cursed with a muscle disorder and bound to crutches that hugged his arms in the brace, but the young man could run. He loved to run.

Percy wasn't an average man, either. He wasn't incredibly handsome like an actor, nor was he concentrated so much on being in the spotlight. He could, however, be passed as one of the handsomest normal males of the species, for he didn't need the lighting or the makeup to retain an awestruck beauty, with a dim tan and eyes that captured the tide, masked with his unruly black hair.

Nico was the only one that protruded, like a black sweater in a field of midriff pink tank tops. He enjoyed spending his time in the background, hidden by the shadows, watching everything unfold before him. He did happen to have his own sense of humor, and it was easy to say that no one else possessed it. It was dark and crude and could be suggestive at times.

As it was about to reveal itself:

"What'd she do to it this time?"

Percy couldn't contain his snort, glancing from Nico to the boy that had just presented himself from the kitchen with a nasty sauce stain on his white, long sleeve shirt.

"Not funny," Grover narrowed his eyes. He didn't appreciate what some others thought was genius in its own mischievous way.

Nico gave the satisfaction of a small smirk, and turned his attention to Percy who had been reaching across the small coffee table to pop the top of his soda can. "Got any more beer?"

The arm froze, a fizzing erupting from the can, and he took in a short-tempered breath. "You know I don't."

"You used to always—"

"I—don't have any."

Nico stared down into his now empty bottle with remorse. "Man, what happened to you?"

Percy shrugged and sipped from his Coke can as if nothing had just passed between them, as casually as he could. "Got a new perspective," he admitted. Maybe he had always thought of it as he did then, but he had a strong feeling that it wouldn't have been brought to his attention until the events leading to where he was. He'd been clean for almost three years, now only twenty-three.

"I think Nico needs that perspective," Grover muttered scornfully, eyeing the youngest of the companions gathered on a lowly Super Bowl Sunday. "Tell him, Perce. Give him every detail."

Percy had used his story—his testimony—as his building block to realizing what he was meant to do in accordance to a girl he had once known. He was meant to share it with people like himself, the problematic misfits that had caused him so much grief. But sharing with one of his best friends—how could he ever? It was so embarrassing when he drew to the ending that started him fresh, because he couldn't hold himself; he knew he couldn't.

His mouth had only opened a miniscule amount when the quiet patter of socks tumbled into the room and yawn broke what had been a moment's silence.

"Daddy," a quiet voice, groggy and near muted. "I can't sleep."

Percy turned around on the couch to his small daughter—just peaking the age of four. Her honey-blond hair tumbled down her back in waves, fogged green eyes blinking over at him. She held out her arms in a silent plea—_come tuck me in; tell me a story._

He shifted his weight on the bed, the little girl sitting in front him, her comforter pulled onto her lap. She sighed as he parted her hair and dropped it on either side of her shoulders. He proceeded to braid one side, gently and slowly weaving one clump around the other and smoothing down any bumps in the silk.

His mother had taught him a thing or two, _okay?_

"And there was a little princess," he continued quietly, the only light coming from the lamp on her bedside table. He tightened the braid upon stumbling over the halfway point, and then moved his hands fluidly through the unruly remains, combing his fingers through the knots.

"A warrior," she corrected.

"What?"

"There was a little warrior," she told him stubbornly, her eyes roaming as in attempts to look at him. "She was a warrior, daddy, not a princess."

"Right," he agreed. "A warrior. Her name was... uh…" he racked his mind for a suitable name. He had never been the greatest of storytellers.

"Annabeth," the girl supplied.

Percy froze, the hair tie loosely hanging in her hair. He shook his head and wound it tightly around the end of the hairdo. "Yeah, Annabeth."

"And she liked to fight the town fool, Percy," his daughter added with his crooked smile she had somehow inherited. If he were to be honest, there was little resemblance between the two. She belonged solely to her mother, and he tried not to think it painful, finding it near impossible. She was his little princess.

"Who's telling the story?" he asked, her gaze turning to meet his questionable smirk.

She grinned sheepishly," Sorry, daddy."

He mumbled goodheartedly and curled her hair at the tip of the braid. "Yes, she liked beating on the town fool. But his name was the super awesome Perseus, not just Percy."

"I think you mean the egocentric," she teased, giggling to herself.

"Where on earth did you hear _that_ word?" he asked unsoundly, giving her his best attempt of a wry look.

"Grover." They nodded with a silent understanding.

Maybe they weren't always compatible; maybe she liked her friends more often than she liked talking to him, but they had a quirky bond that somehow held them together. Perhaps his stories…

"Okay," he agreed. "Turn."

She shifted her body around until she was facing the left wall and he began to part the remnants of her hair into three sections. He sat silently for a moment, concentrating on starting his next work of art. Then he found the words and remembered his story.

"So, Sir Perseus, the Awesome," he smiled winningly for good effect, "came to her palace one day to challenge her spot as high princess warrior of the land."

"I love this part," Jay, his daughter, murmured to mostly herself, yet he heard her and smiled. He loved this part, too.

"She accepted, naturally," he told her for good measurement, making sure she would at least see him in her peripheral vision. He leaned back and smoothed the small curls popping from the braided strands. "And as soon as he went to fight her, she simply pushed him in the playground sandbox. He didn't play with sand much after that," Percy mused.

"And then, when she helped him up," Jay continued, grinning and twirling her new-found braid, "he asked her to marry him. And she said no!" She busted into a fit of laughter, her father's hands fumbling with the braid until a section had come loose.

"Ah, Jay," he groaned. "Sit still and let me finish."

She quietly apologized as he drew the story to a close and wrapped the last of the hair tie around the clump. He patted the top of her hair, the part splitting off to a diagonal, and he stood. His lips pressed to her forehead and he pulled the drawstring on the lamp, wishing her a goodnight.

"Night, daddy," she mumbled into her pillow, slowly continuing her descent into the dream world. He pulled the door to only leave a crack of light and moved back down the hallway and out to where his friends still sat.

He had only just joined them when Nico decided that he deserved an even harder time.

"Now, about that story."

**I'll assume the good stuff starts next. It's late; night you guys.**


	2. The Makings

**Big response, I'm impressed. Not as big as others, but it's enough to make me smile. I like smiling…**

**Anyways, here we go, in order.**

_**Liesygirl-**_** Yeah, I wasn't very clear on everything, and I probably won't be all of the time. But everything—I hope—is revealed with time. I mean, the story's called **_**Exposure**_**, haha. Want to specify so I know what to make…erm, better?**

_**Filmyfurry-**_** I love Percy with Jay also! I mean, cute and demanding—who wouldn't love her? I'm glad I've caught your attention; this story really means the most to me, even if it's not my greatest work.**

_**Silentforce20-**_** I tend to avoid those stories—these stories?—also, but you may find a…ah, not-so-pleasant surprise. It may even be a turn off, but it will stir emotion as I hope.**

_**AlvaBlueFyre-**_** I'm glad you think so. And, hey look—I'm continuing.**

_**Sweet blossom89-**_** I wouldn't want to reveal too much yet, but it's completely difficult for Percy. He does, however, manage his own. And yes, Jay is the coolest.**

_**FoalyWinsForever-**_** What inspired this story will pass—I hope on a positive note—and if it doesn't… well, oh well, right? I'm glad you're intrigued; that means a lot.**

_**MyChemicalRomanceRocks-**_** you just made it in time for me to add your name. Don't worry; this is a full blown story somewhere in my mind. I don't know if that's fortunate or not because some people get lost there…**

**Thanks for adding to alerts.**

_**Exposure**_

"Percy," Annabeth leaned her head back on his chest and fiddled with his fingers after managing to calm her laughter. "Promise me something."

"Uh-huh."

"You have to be completely honest with me, okay?" she looked up at him, all seriousness gracing her features. "Even if I ask you if my butt looks big in something, you tell me, alright?"

He choked on his laughter trying to restrain it because he knew that she wanted his tone to be equal with hers. He led her to sit up, still stifling a chuckle. "Yeah, of course."

"Good." She pulled her hair to rest over one shoulder and ran her fingers through the knots quietly, her mind filtering through her assignment at her new school, designing and laying out the 3-D model on the computer program for a world community center of the performing arts. She sifted through all of the useless figures and discarded them; only calculating new scales or improvements.

"Annabeth?"

"Yeah?" She turned to look at him, breaking her thoughts but never forgetting them.

"Those shorts make your butt look big."

Her face fell to one of annoyed sarcasm. "Glad you noticed."

xxx

He leaned on the hood of the old white Lexus that rested in a vacant lot, raven hair falling over his eyes as he gazed up at the stars, and he brought the roll to his lips. Inhale, exhale. Breathe.

She followed his position also fixing her eyes upon the hosts of the heavens quietly and clasped a cold beer bottle between both of her palms, rolling it, the remnants sloshing. She pushed her fiery hair behind her shoulder and glanced at him.

"So, you and Annabeth," she murmured, studying his reaction. "Since when?"

He dropped the cigarette and squashed it beneath his shoe, turning to look at her. "Two years, maybe. Something like that." Her face told him how stupid she felt. "You've been gone awhile, Rachel."

"Like a year and a half," she claimed, prodding a finger in his chest and laughing. She turned her attention to the bar that lay across the street quietly and sized up its worth in her gaze, wondering if it could be in her father's price range. "Wanna see if we could get in?"

"Underage," he reminded her, also fixing his eyes upon the single story building. A neon sign read something along the lines of _Big House_ in a fancy script that was murder on his eyes. He gave it one glimmer of wistful thinking and pushed it aside. "Besides, I gotta pick Annabeth up in an hour. Don't want to smell like this crap," he added, motioning to the ground.

"I like that smell," she narrowed her eyes. "It's very macho, you know."

"Yeah, well, I doubt she would like it," he informed, giving her a pointed look, one of expectancy, as if she should have known. Rachel finished her bottle and threw it to the ground with finality, making way for the driver-side door.

"So what you're saying is," Rachel supplied, revving the engine of her car, "Annabeth doesn't know."

"And I'd appreciate it if we could keep it that way," he pleaded, clasping his hands together.

Rachel was reluctant at first. It wouldn't be fair; it was the cowardly thing to do. To hide old habits for so long, to keep secrets from someone he claimed to love; she'd have no part of it. However, it wasn't her place to say anything. She had kept her own habits from her parents. No, Percy would have to be the victim of Annabeth's immediate wrath.

"Thanks," he leaned back in his seat as she sped down the road. He gave her a sideways glance. "You know, I never got a sip."

She made a face.

It was close to a thirty minute drive before Rachel pulled up to his apartment. He thanked her with a small wave and ducked inside the complex, fumbling with his keys as he rode in the elevator, standing quietly beside his elderly neighbor. She was grinning up at him the entire trip through her thick glasses, her eyes wide with a strange joy. He felt himself consciously scooting towards the wall.

He hated elevators as much as he hated elevator music.

Upon entering his apartment, his eyes expanded considerably. He should have been so pissed; yet, he found himself covering a laugh with a glare. His small Rottweiler pup had destroyed everything in sight. The lamp had been tugged off of the side table as if she had been gnawing on the chord and the bottom of his recliner had been torn to pieces.

As he painstakingly took in the sight and moved further inside, he stumbled across a dirt trail that lead to his bedroom. He bit back a curse, situated the lamp properly and peeked his head inside. Lying on his bed was a blob of black that was shifting and producing a low growl from her throat as she tortured a once-potted plant out of its misery.

"Mrs. O'Leary," he whispered venomously. Her ears perked up and he called to her again. She turned to reveal two wide brown eyes and she yapped with pure joy, forgetting the destroyed plant, and bounding towards him with four stubby legs. She jumped around and propped her paws on his legs, her tongue hanging out merrily.

Percy had previously rescued the pup from the local shelter after her owner had passed away. She was weak and shy and with every movement he made as he walked the line of cages, she seemed to flinch away and whimper. His eyes had of course crossed over a German shepherd, full-grown with sad eyes, but something about the Rottweiler had captivated him.

He patted her head and searched his room for what he needed, forcing himself to remember what arrangements the couple had made. He yanked drawers open, shuffled through clothes lying on his floor, got on his knees and scanned the under of his bed coming up empty. His face was heating up, his chest compacting into a small icebox, as he desperately made way for his bathroom.

He caught sight of the steely-black bottle, a warm brown dappling the sides in long streaks.

With a change of clothes, a decent teeth brushing, and a long spray from the bottle, he was near presentable. He examined himself in a full mirror with a grimace and shoved his bangs from his eyes once again, noting the unruly nature of the strands, and grabbed his car keys from the side table.

xxx

She smiled over at him, waved her unnerving mother off and slid in next to him. He had subconsciously met her mother's eyes and he was held in a petrified trance, her inexplicably grey eyes tuned into his with disapproving venom. For a moment, his heart jumped into his throat, because he had no doubt she knew—or at least suspected—that he hadn't been completely honest with her daughter; that he was a lying fraud that had selfishly hidden a flaw from her. But the thought was washed away as Annabeth clasped her hand on his knee and asked him if he was alright.

"Huh?" he glanced at her and nodded. "Yeah."

xxx

He pressed his back into the leather of the coffee house seats, a warm mug clasped between his two palms. His mind had gone blank. All that he could find in his memory bank was one thing that he could never have, and he found it utterly impossible to shove the thought away and focus on the girl that was a blur in front of him. He brought the ceramic cup to his lips and sipped from the vat of hot chocolate, creating an irritating slurp, and focused on the rich taste in his mouth.

The milky chocolate sauce slowly but surely lulled his mind out of the pack of fresh rolled ones and he could bring her image into focus. She was mumbling something, something he couldn't understand. Her mouth seemed to be moving a mile every second, though it shouldn't have been possible.

"Annabeth," his mouth formed the words without his mind's accompaniment.

She met his eyes silently. "Yes?"

"You're talking a lot," he blurted and pulled the cup to his mouth, covering a large majority of his smirk.

Her face flashed with annoyance and embarrassment but she quickly recovered her wits. "I'm just making up for you not talking."

"I can't squeeze a word in," he shot back, the mug now resting on the table, he leaning forward in anticipation of an enjoyable bicker.

"I know you wouldn't be able to keep up with the conversation," she shrugged, almost challenging him.

"Ah, so you're talking to yourself," he nodded in satisfaction and leaned back with pleasure, the mug now resting between his spread legs, both hands cradling the object casually. The smug nature wasn't one he found comfortable, seeing as she was generally the 'top-dog' in an argument, but he felt he had finally cornered her, made her look like the fool. He would never let her live the moment down…

"Yeah," she agreed just as cockily, and took a sip from her own coffee cup with a gracious smile.

He cursed.

**A/N: And other last minute reviews that I should've already answered too, haha.**

_**AlexatheKnight- Glad I caught your attention, Lexa! It means a lot to me, honestly. **_

_**Jia-Lerman-Jonas-**_** I'm flattered, completely covered in blush and a smudge of pride, haha. Thanks so much for the feedback. Not sure what you thought about this chapter, but I'd like to know. You have a pretty amazing username yourself!**


	3. The Comings of a Party

_**Filmyfurrry-**_** I'm not sure anything becomes clear in this chapter, really. It all should come in time though. Fill me in on what I should clarify though so I can help you out.**

_**AlvaBlueFyre- **_**Scandals are a virtue in this story, haha. But Athena telling Annabeth that Percy's hiding something? Only in our wildest dreams would Athena blurt; she plans and manipulates. But I do doubt I'll be including Athena-worthy strategies in this story.**

_**MyChemicalRomanceRocks-**_** I was debating on whether or not to make Percy so OOC with the whole smoking habit and all, but it felt right for an AU and so I went with my gut. A lot of people seem to like it and, I quote, think it's "hot".**

_**FoalyWinsForever-**_** I can never understand fanfics that make Rachel out as some heinous villain that's purposefully trying to tear Percy and Annabeth apart. Honestly, she never made a drastic attempt at it and I believe she should never be portrayed that way, you know? I enjoy darker fics, too.**

_**Jia-Lerman-Jones-**_** I'm completely against smoking also, which made writing it feel awkward, but I somehow managed in decency. I thought a smoking Percy would be pretty hot, too (no pun intended). Mrs. O'Leary just fit as his disastrous pet and I couldn't replace her with anyone—or thing—else. Rachel irks numerous people, but she was never all bad. I just hated how she kissed Percy and completely confused him about his ****obvious**** feelings for Annabeth! Don't worry; you're reviews are logical in every sense. There shall be more Percy and Annabeth moments, so no worries there! And I appreciate you telling me how much you enjoy my writing. I honestly don't see myself as anything special.**

**Okay, wondering what I should change the summary to. The current one doesn't fit the story nicely.**

**Back into the nooks of my mind.**

_**Exposure**_

Percy could assume his life was decent at the time being. He had the girl, and his desires seemed to never be out of reach. They were always laid before him—much appreciation to Rachel—and he could simply rifle through, pick and choose. Abuse what he wanted and put it back as though it were never held in his rough palms. He could even go for fine Cuban cigars, but he never found the audacity his speed so much as a joint or simple cigarette.

A beer on occasion.

But, no, tonight didn't seem to be a desirable night for him. Annabeth had refused him, which he found normal. He was under heavy influence from watered-down vodka—and he had discovered that he loathed the taste as much as he did the burden of cigars—and though he normally found his sense of control, was at a loss in a late night, very close encounter that involved her nearly throwing her very large architecture book at him.

And with the moon and stars dappling the night sky, he found himself once again leaning on Rachel's old Lexus, the nub of a cigarette resting between two fingers. He raised it to his lips for a moment and sent a wisp of grey smoke curling through his parted mouth.

"Struck out," Rachel mused smugly, studying him as he ran his thumb along his hairline.

"Didn't even want a homerun," he informed her, and the guilt could not be hidden behind any mask. "I had been hittin' it heavy tonight. I don't know what I was thinking." He swore loudly, dropping his hand and digging his other in his pocket.

"My fault," Rachel decided. She was sprawled on the hood of the engine to stare intently at what seemed to be the only clear think that night. The bright shimmers of flickering images, millions of miles away, hidden in a blanket of vast nothing; they brought her a strange sense of hope that maybe her father would understand her.

"I should've known better," he shrugged, dismissing her thought. "I was hanging out with her tonight; why would I go out drinking with you?"

"It's fun."

"It was reckless," he said, glancing over at her and then the sky. His eyes flinted between constellations and pockets in the formations, empty holes in the universe. They bothered him; every space should have been filled with stars. The stars meant a sense of freedom, that anything is possible, even the ability to see burning gas from so far away.

"Everything we do is reckless," Rachel argued with a shrug. Of course she was completely right, but he didn't have to agree with her. He preferred the delusional thought that maybe he was a responsible young adult that could handle his own. He, however, knew how to throw his weight around when opportunity came knocking and he could intimidate pretty well, but responsible wasn't a very accurate description. Maybe adventurous…

"Doesn't have to be," he told her, switching his direction and leaning forward on the car hood only slightly with a gentle smile. He pressed his palms flat against the cool paint and could feel the drug in his hand burning a line along his middle and pointer. He cursed and lifted his hand, switching the bud from one to the other, and examined the fresh pink scar dragging between the two in an orderly match. He swore and waved his hand in attempts of cooling the flesh wound.

"You're a reckless person," Rachel sniffed indignantly, and laughed at his misfortune. She could only imagine what his mother would say to the very appealing white scar that would run along his fingers for a decent amount of time. "So give me every detail."

"You mean what I remember?"

"Of course," she sat up to stare at him intently. "You know, with no sleep to aid your memory or wear heavily on the effects."

"I think we saw a movie," he started, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. He hated when his mind drew to a blank for the lapse of mere hours prior to their catching up. "Yeah, some gladiator flick."

"Oh," she teased. "Her favorite."

Of course Annabeth despised gladiator movies; they were never accurate depictions of how horrible the fights were, aside from the one with that Crowe fellow. They never should how terrible Roman rulers could truly be, nor how whiney and weak and spineless. They never made obvious jabs at 'the greats' out of respect and she loathed that. _Why tell a story if it's not going to be accurate_, she had complained at their first watching of the screening of a well-written movie with witty actors.

"Yeah, mistake number one," he flittered his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. "Then we went to my place and she must have sniffed me at least fifteen times." He added the last detail to prove that he had been a complete wreck but Rachel took this tidbit oddly.

"_Sniffed_ you?" She stuttered on her laughter and dug her hand in her pocket, pulling out a red-and-white packet. She slipped a slender cigarette and looked to him. "Got a light?"

He pulled a red, plastic lighter and flicked the starter until it fluttered to life with a short burst. He held it out to her and she ran the butt through the flame, slowly spinning it for her theory of fine roasting. _Adds a smoky flavor_, she would joke on herself, then shake her head and puff tendrils of smoke in his face. "Sniffed me," he repeated, killing the fire and dropping it down into his jacket pocket.

"Um," she blew of cloud of rich smoke over her head. "Okay? What are you? Dogs?"

"I don't mean like she just came up and started sniffing me," he amended, cursing at her laughter. "I mean, if I was sitting next to her, she'd act like she smelled something and ask me about it."

"You didn't tell her, right?"

"Course not!"

"Just checking," Rachel spread her hands in surrender and bit the roll between her lips, shifting her jaw around. She looked over at Percy and bit down even harder on the cigarette to produce a puff of dust from the opposing end. Every time she was out with Percy, she felt the obligation to be freer than she had been at her house. And that was how she acted. Percy didn't judge her actions, he never said no to her just wanting to have fun, but she knew that she would be returning to her house as soon as Annabeth came calling.

And so she pulled the cigarette from her mouth and slid from the hood, wedging her body between his and the car's.

"Well, someone's getting friendly," he goaded, backing away from her presence and biting on his own cigarette.

"Let's go to the club, Perce," she waved her hand off across the street to the club she had shown recent interest in. Lights and music poured out onto the street in puddles of exaggerated enthusiasm as if to say _Hell yeah, it's Monday night which means we survived another working day._ Percy could see shadows draped over each other through the tainted windows, everyone appearing to be laughing and squealing.

"How would we get in?"

Her face fell to offense. "You don't think I'm hot enough?"

He felt the trap coming and swallowed his tongue. He knew she was a decent looker and he had become painfully aware that she hadn't let her body go to waste, but to think she could get passed a bouncer just with a small swing of her hips—ones that she had never been proud of—was absurd. She wasn't very set on how she looked and by the way her hair was pulled into a matted up-do, they wouldn't be getting further than the front door.

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Five bucks says I get in."

"Rachel," he tried, sure that this would all backfire on him rather than her.

She turned on her heel, dropped her cigarette and trampled the poor bud as she made way to the street that was about to crossed so vilely, Satan would be proud.

**A/N: If you're curious, I'm proud to say I have no experience with drugs or clubs. Maybe I can pull it off, maybe I can. We'll find out.**

**I realize Rachel seemed out of character nearing the end, but considering she had just indulged herself in the company of vodka I assumed maybe it would be a plausible excuse.**

**Later, my faithfuls. **


	4. Breaking That Thing Called A Promise

**Oh, um, I forgot something important.**

**I don't own Percy Jackson, and the previous statement is as follows through the rest of the story. Still looking for a decent summary.**

**Ah, reviews were limited this time round, but I'm pretty okay with that.**

_**Filmyfurry- **_**Interesting—very accurate.**

**I feel as if I haven't fully developed their relationship yet, but I'm glad you like the feel so far. No worries about romanticism between the duo; I could never forgive myself **_**unless**_** there was to be some meaningless reason that may come later in the story after the climatic point. Hypothetically, of course. This story is… for Percabeth shippers, unless you don't like 'sad' endings…**

**Complicated—more like volatile and explosive, haha; however, we've barely dug into the meat of the relationship. Those two crazy kids are very out of their league, but they'll reach their high point yet.**

**Thanks for reviewing!**

_**AlvaBlueFyre- **_**Rachel does have a perfect attitude, doesn't she?**

**And about that—I suppose it should have been mentioned earlier. And this is extremely ****important****: their mortals. No gods; no Olympus. Nothing like that. Sorry, I love writing those, but this is a completely different world of reality we're dealing with.**

_**Percyjackson9731-**_** I'm glad you appreciate it as much as I appreciate your review! Have no fear, though, for Prachel shan't prevail! (As in, that doesn't exactly exist right now, lol)**

**Here we go again.**

_**Exposure**_

The hand so elegantly placed on Percy's forehead, his free hand reaching up to grip his hair as he lay, sunlight streaming through his bedroom window, was sign enough that, yes, Rachel had gotten them past the bouncer _and_ the bartender, and he was now fully regretting that decision. His head was pounding directly behind his eyes and if he wasn't so sure he was imagining it, he could swear his left eye was twitching. His stomach was strangled and tortured, as if some bored body builder had just paddled his gut like a piñata. He remembered the feel of him falling from the high of the hard liquor and rolls, how everything was blurred and depressing and he couldn't live another second without just one sip or one inhale.

He shaded his eyes and readjusted to lie on his elbows. On the ground below was a mass of red curls sprawled along the carpeted floor, Rachel's head perched on her folded arms and her face so peaceful he had assumed she was a different girl than the one living it up in the club the previous night. Beside her lay an assortment of white paper and a fine black pile of powder, leftovers.

It was law; the way the two woke up, it could only be assumed they had either been really _busy_ with each other or partying irresponsibly the night before. In truth, he could only faintly remembered what song they had been dancing to when they were caught by the club owner and he was sure that he hadn't been the least bit shy around a very questionable punch bowl that hid off in a corner. And the more he thought, the more he realized that he hadn't been shy or even slightly modest of how he needed to act had a certain blonde-haired beauty been there.

Through his thoughts, he was sure that somewhere as distant as what could've been Greece, he heard the click of his front door and something dropped to the floor. There, a curse lingered in the back of his mind and he forced himself to face whoever thought their presence was important _that_ early in the morning.

Percy proved himself right about one thing; they had partied. And hard.

Hordes of people were draped across countertops and couches, under his coffee table, all snoring, cups littering the floor. A sour scent of bitter liquor and the throb of smog from dying cigarettes blanketed the room. He tripped and stumbled, trampling hands and a pair of car keys that set off a car alarm.

He found himself before one woman that would always be most important to him and he could feel himself ready to cry. His mother, Sally Jackson, with a bag of groceries at her feet, gaped at the room, her hand hovering over her mouth. She hardly acknowledged him, taking in the surroundings of her son's home, and Percy could have easily slipped away before she looked on him with horrible disappointment.

He found himself searching for his loophole out of trouble.

"Percy," she breathed, tearing her eyes from his and glaring hard passed his shoulder. She moved further inside, purposefully nudging his shoulder in hopes of showing just how heartbroken she was by the disaster, and she avoided crushing limbs beneath her. She gagged at the smell, forgotten groceries rolling along the floor by the door. "What in the world…?"

"Mom, I can explain—"

"Well, you better before I knock you into next week," she threatened throatily, her eyes roaming the ceiling and the chaos that littered the apartment.

Maybe his approach was less then tactful, he knew so much. And of course, what he said next only made him seem more childish than he should've been. He was nineteen; where was the maturity that comes with responsibility? Lost in the bitter-sweet tang of alcohol. And with that lack of maturity running through his veins, he told her the truth as far as he was concerned.

"It was all Rachel."

Sally turned on him, expecting something of jest, but there was nothing but serious desperation in his eyes. She looked to the ground where she may have been hoping her son's brain had dropped and came up disappointed. "You're moving back in."

"What?" he could hardly hide the dismay or the choking action on his own saliva. Moving in? With his mother? How old did she take him for—granted the situation wasn't the best. But living with his mother? "Mom, that's not fair."

"Not fair?" she furrowed her brow dangerously, like she had never done. He had crossed a line somewhere passed the front door and his bedroom. "Percy, you promised you'd stay out of trouble. That was the condition of living on your own. That and, well, you know, not patronizing Annabeth—"

"Mom, I know," he winced. It was odd, his mother talking about something so… human, for he was sure she was God-sent. Why then, he had to try and remember, had he gotten into drugs?

Oh, of course. That was Annabeth's loving 'older brother'—translating to crush that she used to look up to. He had gotten the impression that everything ran better when you were too high to function. The boy, Luke, had taken him out with some friends once when he was a freshman, attempting to show him the ropes, and a friend pulled out a light. Percy was weak under the pressure of everyone else participating, no matter how disgusted he was by Annabeth's friend—and he knew she had no idea what was going on or she would've smacked them both with a hot frying pan. And he later pulled Rachel down with him when he and Annabeth had a break in their armor.

"I'm going home; I'll let Paul know," she told him with finality. She peeked her head into his bedroom, trying to breathe through the fog, and let her eyes finger over the dressers, the bed sheets, and then red-head passed out on his floor. "Oh, Rachel," she murmured.

She could recall when the girl had been so well-trusted, with such a wonderfully artistic future ahead of her. She should've known, honestly. What great artist _wasn't_ high?

"Next week, you're old room should be ready," she promised and curled her lip in disgust when she pulled her head back to the rest of her body. With a head shake, she grabbed the bag of groceries from the floor, placed them gently in Percy's arms, and gave the room one last scornful glare, then left.

"That went pretty good," he decided before turning to place the bag in his kitchen and tripping over someone's sprawled arm, sending the fruits and vegetables everywhere. "Awesome day."

xxx

Rachel's hand made the connection with his face and a stifled groan. He glared down at her and jabbed his finger in her side again. "Red, get up." She shifted to her side and waved him away. "Rachel, we have to clean this place up."

Another wave of her hand and she buried her head beneath the excess fold of his comforter on the floor.

"Rachel, seriously," he shook her shoulder. He didn't care about the apartment, honestly. He would've left it to air out itself and save him the trouble, but there was no way he could leave her passed out on his floor while he went out with Annabeth throughout the day.

No, if he were being honest with himself he could admit that he would've left her there if Annabeth wasn't going to be dropping in every once in a while. His mind was solely on her rather than where Rachel was sleeping off her high from the previous night. She had once spent her entire Saturday sleeping in his bathtub while he was at the beach with his biological father. Rather interesting day, right?

And so when she used this against him and then called him cowardly for lying to his girlfriend of two-years, his chest swelled with guilt and anger.

Hell, he knew how futile the attempts were of being civil.

In his kitchen he scavenged for the eye dropper, and once he found it, absorbed as much water in as he could, not really wanting his worn carpet to soak in a puddle of fluid. And he held it out, suspended over her temple where she was immensely sensitive, and _drip_. It splattered and drops roamed along her jaw line. She twitched.

_Drip_.

"Percy, stop."

_Drip._

She shivered.

_Drop._

She cursed, "Percy, I'm going to kill you."

**A/N: Uhm, yeah. Very uneventful. I'm thinking of reintroducing chapters to my other stories along with this one. Things did **_**not**_** end on a positive note and the muse and I no longer speak to each other; not as easily as we avoid each other as if we had the plague. So, yeah. **

**My heart's not in anything right now.**

**So, I guess this is goodbye until next time.**


	5. Right as Rain

**I guess it's safe to say that this is the next time. So hello again, out there.**

**Mind you that the muse and I have some serious distance so… Well, I caught a disease. It's not necessarily contagious, so please don't go grabbing your masks and crossing your fingers. The doctors say I should live a normal life, though many complications will occur. It's called writer's block and leaves me prone to blank-minded hesitations between updates, frozen-finger syndrome where they may suddenly stop working, and ADD moments where my mind blanks and I find a new focus.**

**Awesome. So, reviewers.**

_**Filmyfurry—**_**Yeah, right? Percy just went and jumped off the deep end. And this is what you get when you cross the line. I know this update wasn't as soon as either you or I hoped, but it's come.**

_**AlvaBlueFyre—**_**Sorry, but no. No demigods, monsters, titans or other divine critters scurrying through this story. Glad you like Percy's suffering, haha. You know, having to move in with his mom and all.**

_**.Star.x—**_**As written above, nope. No demigods, all mortal. Glad I have you interested and I hope I keep your attention.**

_**PercabethEternalLove—**_**I'm so glad to hear that, and I hope I rise to that potential! Probably won't… but one can dream, right?**

**And into my head we go.**

_**Exposure**_

She bit down on his lower lip. God, that was new. It wasn't really her style at all.

And he kinda liked it that way.

Her fingers, though laced under his shirt and resting on his back, were just low enough to be considered chaste and that feeling of reluctance was driving him wild. He hardly noticed his shoulder blades brushing the door when one smooth palm curled around his neck and fingered the locks dipping over the nape; she grinned. He pulled her just about as close as he was sure she could go, her back arcing desperately.

He pulled back for a second to grin and popped a small kiss on her lips. He cursed about missing this sort of adventure with her.

"Why?" Her grin faltered.

He shook his head, smile suddenly falling from his face completely, releasing her waist and pushing up against the door exasperatedly. His palms pressed into the white wood behind him and he averted his eyes, her standing stock-still before him. "My mom's making me move back in."

"That's not so bad."

He glanced at her, waiting for her to take that back, because she had to know that things wouldn't—_couldn't_ be the same for them so long as he was hung around his mother's house like an old tom cat. They wouldn't have long nights, steam pouring from the bathroom as he sits on his couch waiting for her to put an end to her shower, curled against each other innocently, lovingly. Rainy days with glassy blue light flooding the windows, the couch the most comforting resting point, playing with each others fingers. Sudden stops after a trip to the beach, sand in their shoes and hair, clothes dappled with wetness as they popped in to grab money for ice cream.

"Okay," she shrugged. "We'll just hang out at my place."

He shook his head. "With your dad hanging around? It's too…" he studied her face, "different."

Her smile dropped, eyes narrowed, shook her head and grabbed his hands in her own; she pulled him further into the room, back towards the couch that held memories of them just sitting there, staring, daring the other to look away with coy grins, knees attached. He sat next to her, the same way they had so many times before, and she crossed a leg across his lap to rest on his furthest side, the other curled up.

"Percy, why don't you just keep the apartment?"

It hadn't really occurred to him; it didn't seem like it would work, he living in his mom's house, having an apartment rotting away. Once more, it seemed more like something a person who got lucky constantly did, have a separate home. "Nah," he decided. "I'll just have to squeeze in what I can…" he grinned, leaning towards her.

She cupped his mouth beneath her palm and stuck her tongue out. "That can wait."

xxx

She adjusted her head so that her ponytail wasn't pushing into the back of her skull, crushed between his chest and her body, and with that he pressed his lips to her temple, smiling against her skin. She hardly paid him any heed, pressing her fingertips to his curiously, expanding and contracting their hands fluidly. Her mouth may have hung open from her minimal concentration but he said nothing about it.

Rain was dappling the window, soft and low beads collectively gathering, the pitter-patter ringing through all corners of the house. The tarp covering a neighbors clothes' line collected pools of the pour, giving a gurgling and echoing effect. The cement awning flooded over will glistening waterfalls the spilled down the edge.

A graying sky, tarnished with blue and clouds, hanging over them.

"Percy," she broke the peace with her whispered words, studying their intertwined hands. "What's that?"

He grunted against her temple and lifted his face to rest his chin on her hair. "What's what?"

She grabbed at his fingers and spread his pointer and middle finger ever slightly for him to see, running her own along the blistering white line that sprawled over the skin. She rubbed gently, "That."

He hardly acknowledged what had been asked, his lids dripping closed, a sleepy yawn breaking his dozing reverie. He laid his head against the arm rest. "What?"

She pointed again, this time more forced as she repeated herself. He took a moment to glance at it and dropped his head again.

"I burned myself."

She stared. "Oh."

After a moment that had passed with her thoughts of _why on earth would he do that?_ running around in her head she pulled his hand to her face, pressed his two fingers to her lips, let her own eyes slip, fluttering like she was trying to hold them partially open. Her mind was slowing with the lull of the rain to just sleep, but her heart was racing with the feel of him lying against her and she was sure that it wouldn't slow soon, same as the pounding in her gut and the buzzing in her head. He whispered something before she was certain that he had lost the battle against Morpheus.

_I love you._

xxx

He was drooling and talking and doing anything he could to possibly keep her awake, and she minded so terribly much. His breath was warm and not sweet like right after he brushed his teeth, but used and worn. She couldn't recall when she had fallen asleep, but the skyline was burning with a pink flame, orange glow, yellow stroke of paint. The sun was falling; her father may or may not be worried about her location, but he would've called.

She slipped her hand in her pocket, sure there would be a 'missed call' sign flashing at her to get her butt out of his apartment and back to her own bed. There wasn't. With a soft, aggravated sigh, she shoved her phone back into her jeans, shifted to press her chest against his side, and dropped her head almost too forcefully on his chest. So what if her dad didn't care?

He was busy.

Percy murmured something unintelligible and tossed his head to face the opposite direction, drool drying along the corner of his lips. She gave a small laugh and buried her face deeper into the salty sea smell of a hardened beach boy that had sat in the sand for too long and had become one with the ocean. He shifted beneath her.

A new smell. Smoky and rough around the edges, bitter like… burnt marshmallows. She jabbed him in the gut gently and grinned to herself. _Someone_ needed to lay off of the S'mores.

**A/N: short and sweet and sickly fluffy that I'd hate to see in movies but love reading about. More about developing the relationship and setting it in place for you, the readers.**


	6. Blurred

**Okay. It's, uh, been a while, huh? **

**The doctor's are slowly losing hope on finding a cure for my… condition. I was hoping that I would get the call with the good news, you know—the kind everyone loves hearing? But no such luck. Writer's Block is running rampant through my mind, infecting every aspect (and story) of my life. I find that I'm also slowly losing social skills so it's evidently spread past simple creativity.**

**Reviewers; well, those that have remained faithful (thank you!)**

_**AlvaBlueFyre-**_** I agree one-hundred percent! Beautiful and sad, bittersweet, etc. Completely what I have in mind for the pair, and I'm glad I portrayed the relationship that way!**

_**Filmyfurry**_**- I love fluff probably as much as you! Glad that chapter could satisfy your fluff-hunger. And I appreciate the understanding on time-restraints and such. Much appreciated!**

_**xFireStar**_**- I wish I'd update faster, too, because I feel like crap when I leave you guys hanging. What type of person does that? …Me. But! I'm back for now, so I hope this makes up for it. And I understand you perfectly, there is a **_**huge**_** line between a storyteller and a writer and I really appreciate your opinion because you seem to believe I'm doing something great here. I hope I don't manage to disillusion you with this chapter.**

**And… go.**

_**Exposure**_

College is pretty much exactly what people anticipate (aside from those that have brought forth some fantasy that it's party after party and drink after every petty drink and intimacy, hot and quick, or not for some lucky—or unlucky—few) what with working feverous hours on stupid essays that seem to just keep piling up and constant exams—even within the first week.

However, being the boy he really was—despite his wishes to drop the title of 'boy' when he turned twelve—Percy Jackson seemed to fail in the aspect of 'work hard' out of the saying 'work hard, play hard'. He did delve into college projects that seemed more worthwhile and he managed to maintain superfluous grades—or what he saw as superfluous seeing as how he has ADHD and dyslexia—but that never deterred him from holding parties and partaking in his usual activities: hanging out with Annabeth, talking to Rachel, smoking a joint or drinking, trying to get the new kid, Nico di Angelo (long story) to come out of his shell, pretending to be interested in Grover's environmental needs, drinking, smoking. His life was increasingly busy and, as he was soon discovering, progressively more dull.

The Annabeth slice of life, now _that,_ he had to admit, was worth every moment. When she'd look at him with all the seriousness she could muster and call him an idiot, or her Seaweed Brain (another long story for a different campfire) and all he could do was give her his lopsided grin. When she would narrow her eyes and prep herself to punch him in the arm, only to decide to kiss him (which was how their first kiss went during their exploring a Hawaiian volcano in summer camp) and he was flustered for the next five minutes or so. Or just when she would curl up next to him and doze off, only to find that he had followed her enticing lead and she had awoke before he managed to and would tell him that he drooled.

Yeah, all of that managed to keep him interested in where he was and what was going on.

And then there was of course Rachel, who was increasingly interested in trying new things rather than becoming addicted. She would sit next to him and test out his joint, then shrug and tell him it was nothing special, and she'd just as soon be fiddling with Meth—only to throw it away because some things were just too far out of her comfort zone. And she had somehow pulled him halfway into that see-and-try-now-think-later attitude. He would go out and party with her, try something on and off the rocks, and just as soon return to his die-hard smoking addiction.

Not the best life to live, but he had seen worse up close and personal.

Percy shook his head and tried to refocus his eyes on the book in front of him. He had an exam after the upcoming weekend, on the dreaded Monday, leaving him five days to either study hard or watch his grade plummet. His mind kept drifting from a select few items, each involving someone of personal interest. More often, he would slip into the what's-Annabeth-doing-now mode and chew on the butt of his pen, trying to think of what a Wise Girl did before an exam. Probably exactly what he was forcing himself through.

Then, of course, there was the second most dominant thought pulsing through his exhausted brain. Moving in with his mother and his step-father, and he was absolutely certain that it wouldn't be long before he found out that they were expecting a little munchkin and he frankly didn't want to be in the same household—not even the same neighborhood—as that whole process fell together. Besides, he had been getting along just fine without his mother holding his hand. Despite his personal loyalty issues, he was a young adult and he needed space.

The minor events that were slow-coming would occasionally interrupt the incredibly distracting ones. Grover's Save the Something-something-something, Nico's struggle through senior year in a new school with friends that were all older and in college, Juniper and Grover's increasing fear that she had a little bundle in the oven—Percy had told Grover to save himself like he was making a serious attempt to do (working so far, and they had been dating since they were sixteen)—and of course Thalia's _piss off boys_ outlook, where she knocked out any guy who even _looked_ like he may have an interest in her. It wasn't even like she was lesbian or anything, she just had trust issues ever since Luke Castellan, her incredibly evil ex, had broken every promise he ever made to her and her father had walked out on her and her younger brother.

Real keepers she had, he thought bitterly.

When Percy did finally manage to clear his mind off all things absolutely personal and unprofessional, he deciphered a line or two in his book, jotted down about two words, and felt his phone vibrate visciously in his pocket.

He growled something incomprehensible even to himself and tossed his pen down, sliding the device out and hitting the 'TALK' button. A grumbled greeting.

"Percy," the voice on the other end was huffy and short on breath, a tint of excitement lacing under his urgency.

"Nico?"

"Man, get down here!"

Percy ran his hand across his face and leaned back in his swivel chair, turning slowly in circles like a pig slow-roasting over an open fire. He'd had an increase in calls from the kid, all of which somehow resulted in Percy knocking some heads together for some stupid reason or another. He didn't mind showing off a little and helping out, but when these displays began becoming daily, he had to admit that the more mature half of his brain was becoming increasingly worried. "Down where?"

"That lot you and Rachel go to… you know, where you—"

"Yeah, man, I know. Don't just throw that around, I'm gonna quit." It wasn't necessarily true.

Percy hung up the phone.

He had made a promise to Nico the first day Rachel randomly invited him to hang and he caught the pair smoking some cheap crap.

He grabbed his keys.

He swore he would quit one day, cold-turkey (because Nico was convinced he couldn't—which wasn't true because he _totally_ could) and that he may even convince Rachel.

In one swift motion, Percy was out the door and jogging down the few blocks, night air hurried and chilly with a bite to it. Stars dappled the vast dark in small clumps and pairs, not enough to impress anyone who had lived out where city lights and pollution weren't too bad but something quite refreshing to a native New Yorker. He refocused his short-lived attention and fixated the keys between his knuckles none too discretely. No sense in letting these punks think he was easily intimidated—he had to be the intimidator ready to fight. Or something like that.

Upon rounding the corner he faced something that wasn't exactly what he was expecting. Yeah, so he knew Nico would be on his own, probably cornered with eyes darting around. That part was in place. But the group wasn't a bunch of random high school brats deciding that di Angelo needed a serious face pounding. These were college-and-beyond kids that he definitely recognized.

The AotC (to be replaced with… butt of the class) Jack Harmon, who seemed to have a knack for playing the bully in everything he did—which irritated Percy to no end. He seemed to be playing Mother Hen for the half-brained gorillas that were pressuring Nico further back.

A select few juniors and seniors who Percy wasn't supposed to recognize considering his position as a mere sophomore.

And then the real mind-boggler was Luke hanging around, mid-pack, grinning like he really just needed to let out some steam from being a world-class jerk. Well, no, that didn't really bring any surprise, but what ripped his whole world from underneath him was the incredibly _hot_ blond lounging on the hood of a red mustang, a book in her lap and gold curls slipping in and out of her line of vision.

"Annabeth?" Her head shot up and, upon recognition, she flashed him a bright smile. She nodded her head shortly next to her, basically asking him to watch one of his best friends be pounded into a grease spot. He couldn't quite live with smoking over a greased Nico. "What the heck?"

Her smile slowly faded as she looked from him to the gathering crowd, like this held no affect over her until she realized that he seemed to be morally correct and think this was wrong. "What?"

It was around the time that he was preparing to make a wild gesture over to where he was certain his good pal was getting the snot knocked out of him when a solid fist made contact with his jaw. He felt it swivel out of place and pop back under his shaking fingertips. _What just happened?_

"Luke! What the heck?" Stars were popping in and out of his eyesight incredibly. Where did Luke get a good right arm?

"Stay out of this, Annabeth—"

"Shut up, you idiot!" He felt her hand fall lightly on his shoulder only for him to shrug it off and force himself from the pathetic kneel he was in when trying to settle his brain from its constant rattling around in his skull. "Perce, are you okay?"

He was pleased to say he had shed no blood, and just as he was about to point that out Luke thought it would be cute to get in another punch while he still could. That kind of just tipped the scale enough for Percy to really itch to bust his head in. Now, things were personal. He had always assumed that Luke didn't hate his guts (though Percy couldn't stand the jerk) so much as respect him for dating Annabeth for so long and managing to keep his paws off. At least, that was what he had told him once when they used to hang out. Now, he was certain that it was all a charade for the girl they had in common.

As soon as he looked up though, he noticed something seriously off with Luke's bright azure eyes that usually had a tinge of mischief and good-humor burning through them. They were supposed to be laid back and chill, but he was looking into flitting eyes with anxiety and something really… bizarre. Luke was sky high right now; he probably had no clue what he was doing or even where he was.

It almost impressed Percy that he had managed to hang around Annabeth, higher than the moon, without letting her notice that he was too off the mark.

Then he began to wonder if she already knew about Luke's problem with drugs.

After only a moment to really think through what he was about to do, Percy gave a good right jab to the gut and grabbed the other's shoulders before he flipped over himself to kiss the dirt. Luke puffed out some air for a second or two, blinking roughly, and righted himself. Confusion played with blue irises as they met bright green concern.

"Percy," Luke was still holding his stomach, blinking up at him.

"You okay, man?"

Percy took a second to glance at Annabeth, certain she would be ready to murder both of them. She had never been fond of the idea of her friend's fighting against each other (side-by-side was a totally different ball field) and she certainly wouldn't want them to end up in the hospital—pretty much how their last and only fight went, the only casualties being Percy's wrist breaking and his shoulder popped out of place while Luke cradled his dislocated, nearly shattered jaw that had to be stapled shut for about two weeks. But the only real emotion he found rolling through her was confusion.

Not the why-are-you-two-acting-like-total-idiots bewilderment, so much as why-is-this-so-amusing-to-me. She looked like she was about ready to pull up a chair and sit back with some popcorn and watch the short battle unfold.

She held his gaze for another two or so seconds before quirking the corner of her mouth and retaking her seat on the hood of the car.

Luke grabbed Percy by the shoulders and shoved him into the side of the gas station that was nestled in the middle of the dusty old lot. He was certain the wind had got knocked out of him but before he allowed himself any time to process that terrifying thought he slid to Luke's side and shoved on the core of his back, right between the shoulder blades, sending Luke face-first into cement.

He turned, gripping his nose and making a noise caught somewhere between a whimper and a groan.

"Oh, man, bet that didn't taste too good," Percy empathized, trying to see around the other boy's finger tips.

"Yeah," Luke shook his head, "I'm pretty sure you broke my nose."

It was a move quicker than Percy thought humanly possible, and suddenly Luke was holding tight to his neck, forcing him into a headlock, heaving him up incredibly awkwardly. Percy held to his forearm and tried to bring air back into his lungs, which he found a task more difficult than he had previously assumed.

Seconds, though he had assumed he would be fine—the grip wasn't even that tight—and he found himself blacking out, drifting off into some sort of dream. Images flickered in front of his eyes, some dazzling and other's terrifying and disturbing. Annabeth grinning at him, his parents playing footsie at the dinner table, Grover cuddling an adorable little boy with traces of dark curls on top of his head, little fingers and toes curling and flexing.

One that seemed more permanent, a smiling Annabeth lounging on a black leather couch playing with the hem of her grey v-neck tee. She appeared to be grinning up at him and he felt as if he were watching the world through a camera, like this was all an incredibly old home movie. Surrounding that couch was the rest of an apartment that he only partially recognized as his own, with brand new furniture and a different, more mature paint job then his current one. She spared a glance at her fingers, still fiddling and looked back to him with that same bright smile, nibbling at her lower lip. Her whole frame seemed to be bursting with excitement and ultimate joy, like she couldn't contain herself any longer. She was ready to stand up and dance down the street with no music playing; that kind of happy.

She was… practically glowing.

Then the image simmered down to a full view of nothingness, just a vast dark. Silence, utterly quiet, as if just twitching would shatter the world and everything would break out with noises that could splinter his ear drum. His breathing came back to him, heavy, the only sound in the room as if being filed in through surround-sound speakers. A grinding noise erupted around him and he made a mad grab at his poor, tortured ears. A scream shattered the blank image and in a hot white flash he was peering up at an incredibly familiar face.

"Nico?"

His raven curls swept into his eyes and he grinned down at the previously unconscious rescuer. A brand-spanking-new shiner had earned its place on the Italian's young face and he had a split lip, though he otherwise looked perfectly content. Percy glanced down at the hand rubbing his chest.

"Uh… what are you doing…?"

Nico removed his hand and helped Percy into a sitting position. "Thank God you're alive, man."

"Yeah, great," Percy couldn't help but agree, still slightly put-off by Nico rubbing his chest. "You still didn't tell me what you were doing—"

"It's a revival technique," Nico assured him, utter seriousness trapping the grin down on his face. "Practically brought you back from the dead. You had, like, a mini-seizure and I had to do something."

"You're lucky Nico was here." He looked over to Annabeth, no longer sitting on a red mustang seeing as it was gone now. Seeing her smiling face made his blood run hot and then flash cold all over again, like he was reliving the vision. "Luke and the others bailed when you went down. It was really freaky."

"What do you mean mini-seizure?"

"We figured you were faking, but your eyes rolled back in your head and you started jolting a little," she murmured under her breath, like she was recreating the little scene he had caused unintentionally. And while she did that, he invented his own little scenario over and over, tearing apart and repairing every detail.

"I just started dreaming," Percy assured her. "I didn't even know it was happening. I'm fine."

After sitting up and letting a few more moments pass of him reassuring her and swearing by his health that he was okay, Nico helped him to his feet with the biggest grin stretching from cheek to cheek. "Dude, your little scene totally saved my neck. Thanks."

Percy fixed him with a solitary glare and rubbed his neck. "You're so welcome."

Before anything more could be said, a slender finger was tracing his neck slowly, up and down with obvious worry. He tried to ignore the weird look Nico was giving them both, but it made things even more awkward then they had been prior and he was unexpectedly uncomfortable with Annabeth be so close to him.

"You have four red lines on your neck," she murmured, both of her brows furrowed like he was apparently famous for.

"I'm fine," he told her again, this time hoping she would just let the subject drop. It wasn't really that he was embarrassed that his girlfriend had watched him get knocked out—he was becoming increasingly used to it—it was simply that he didn't like when anyone ever worried about him. It made him feel weak and he really wasn't the one that needed to be worried about—he wasn't important enough. Everyone else was the people that mattered.

When he did manage to get Annabeth and Nico to their respective homes and brought himself back to his own, he observed himself in his bathroom mirror. Water drops hung on his cheeks and forehead from him washing his face with tap water. Both hands on either side of the sink, he craned his neck one way and another to see that she was right. Four bloodshot, vein-masquerading lines had stretched up from his shoulders to just under his chin, about two inches long each. Two on either side of his neck.

He had half a mind to call his mother and inform her that, before she saw him, no, they weren't hickies.

**HAPPY ALL-CAPS DAY IN MEMORY OF BILLY MAYS! I didn't necessarily partake, because then this whole chapter would be under the influence of Caps lock, but I felt like I should say it. So I did.**

**Ta-ta For Now!**


End file.
